Lies of the Heart
by Ruralstar
Summary: Cristina's thoughts in the aftermath of the choking and as Owen takes his first steps towards healing, including a visit to his mother. A/N: This story was written before ep 5x20 "Sweet Surrender" aired.


Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of ABC television, Shonda Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.

Lies of the Heart

Cristina Yang hated lies: the people who perpetuated them and the principle in general. In the span of a few short hours she had chosen to lie to two very important people in her life. Betraying those principles made her angry and it hurt almost as much as the reasons why.

She did not see Owen for hours after the choking and only found out by accident that Meredith and Callie had run interference. Good intentions aside, she resented their actions. After laying out the facts to Meredith she went looking for Owen. She found him in the vent room struggling to reconcile himself to a decision already made. It seemed a sacrilege to violate a place that had been a source of joyous release for both of them with such pain. Watching him strengthened Cristina's resolve to manage this latest crisis. She insisted that it was her right to choose and not be pushed away out of fear or desperation. Owen embraced that tiny hope with tears in his eyes and remorse on his lips. He reached out seeming intent to hold her. Cristina raised a staying hand and heard the sob he could not quite suppress. A part of her broke then, but she ignored the burn of unshed tears still certain that she could put the pieces of them back together. Owen did not follow her out of the basement and remained conspicuously absent during the long hours of Izzy's surgery. In the end, she was the one who could not respect the boundaries he tried to erect. They made love. In the wake of that unimaginable tenderness fear finally won out. She left him alone in the still warm bed. Hello and good-bye.

Back in her apartment, she climbed onto the freshly made bed and reached for a pillow. His pillow as it turned out from the scene of his aftershave still clinging to the crisp cotton. The tears came without warning and she sobbed silently. Her fingers kneaded and punched the pillow as the shock of the day's events sank in. When Meredith arrived and announced her engagement the second lie spilled out. She told Meredith that she broke up with Owen for the sake of peace between them. Cristina felt like a hypocrite and utterly powerless to change what had to be.

The engagement now official, Meredith became an indecisive wreck. Not exactly a new state of being but one Cristina could not cope with. It was easy to step aside and let Izzy plan the nuptials. The blonde needed something positive to occupy her mind in between cancer treatments. Cristina needed the distance from all the fluff and tension. Her thoughts were focused squarely on the man she claimed was part of the past. She thought Meredith was oblivious to her distraction, until the two of them were alone in the cafeteria late one afternoon.

"You never reported Owen to the Chief, did you?"

Cristina's fork hung in the air halfway between the plate and her mouth. "No," she mumbled around a mouthful of tuna salad.

"Why?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Cristina rolled her eyes. She had ceased to care where Meredith's head was at. Much like the aftermath of the Sadie debacle, Cristina felt abandoned by the one person who was supposed to care about her feelings. "I'm not going to report him." She stabbed a bite of macaroni. "And neither are you."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't?"

"I broke up with him, isn't that enough for you?"

"For me?"

Meredith had the temerity to look aghast. Cristina barely suppressed a curse. "I broke up with him and now he's in therapy. Your fiancédid an MRI. He's getting help and he's not killed anyone yet who might not have died anyway. So what else do you want from me?"

"I know you haven't let him go and I…I'm afraid of what could happen."

It was the least selfish thing Meredith had said to her in a long time and it gave Cristina pause. She pushed the food around on her plate, considering whether Meredith could handle confirmation of the truth in lieu of suspicions.

"I understand that he's gone through some stuff. Things that changed him, made him more…"

"Dangerous?" Cristina interjected tersely. "Unstable? Angry? Confused? Depressed?" She sighed and looked up into Meredith's earnest features. Evidently the truth was still a bit beyond her. "You don't think I know that? You have no idea what we've gone through to get even this far." Cristina shook her head. "You don't understand because even I can't understand."

"You can't fix him, Cristina. What happens next time?"

"There won't be a next time."

"There will if you don't let him go."

"If Derek had taken a gun into those woods and tried to kill himself would you walk away?"

"Of course not but he didn't try to…"

Cristina stood up, knocking her chair over in the process. "Owen's been killing himself slowly from the inside out for months now. I walked away at the breaking point. Doesn't matter if it was the best thing for both of us. I have to live with it, not you." She left Meredith sitting mouth agape and went to the vent. Hoping Owen was there and praying that he was not.

Two weeks had passed since 'the incident', as Cristina had come to think of it. In that time, Owen had been the consummate professional. He did not take her name off of his service, in marked contrast to the day he inadvertently threw her across the hallway. His instructions in the Pit were concise. His assessments of patients and students alike were clinical and slightly detached, though no less human. She was 'Doctor Yang' now however, their easy familiarity lost somewhere in the chaos of her bedroom. Cristina missed those quiet moments of connection—her name on his lips, the fleeting warmth of his eyes on her flesh. Owen never looked her square in the eye anymore unless they were dealing with a particularly difficult trauma. Then it was necessity and he looked away almost immediately. They spoke of nothing that was not case related. In the wake of her conversation with Meredith, Cristina felt doubt creeping in for the first time. So consumed by what she had lost and the intolerable way she had handled the situation, she had not considered Owen's perspective. Alone on the vent the questions rose up with the heady draught of steam. Did he resent her for walking away? Was he angry or just too ashamed to face her? Would he be willing to resume their relationship at some point in the future? Would he trust her to stand by him if things got rough again? Could she trust herself? The last sent a shudder clear down to Cristina's toes.

To an outsider personal integrity might seem irrelevant. She was the injured party after all. In hindsight, Cristina recognized that she had become Owen's lifeline rather than an equal partner. His dependency was not something either of them had spoken of in detail. It came out in small moments. The way he clasped her hands tight against his chest for several minutes after the panic of seeing Beth for the first time subsided. Sleeping on her lap in the on-call room hours later. Begging her to 'see him' for the man he had become instead of the man Beth and his own mother might wish for. Even the declaration that he wanted to be around 40 years from now held shades of misdirected hope. An assumption that she would be there with him—instead of the strict assertion that he had chosen life over a premature death. Cristina could not deny the pleasure being wanted brought. Burke had never needed her that way. On the other hand lay the very heavy burden of Owen's confidences. He had big problems. Their conversation the day after their disastrous first date was undoubtedly the first and the last time he had vocalized the extent of those problems; until after 'the incident'.

Cristina stepped off the vent and went to lean against the series of pipes that abutted the wall. She ran her hand over the metal, felt the condensation from the steam on her fingers. Warm, wet, and likely bitter with iron—tears slicking the pipes as if the hospital itself wept for their struggles. Cristina listened to the steady thrum and hiss of the building's heartbeat and took comfort from it.

She was not without scars from that night. There were long hours spent staring at the ceiling fan and listening to its steady whoosh in hopes of slumber. Ironically, holding Owen's pillow often brought peace. She dare not ask why it worked and was seriously considered seeing a shrink herself concerning the nightmares. She remembered none of them. Only woke drenched in sweat and sometimes to the light rapping of Callie's knuckles on her bedroom door. Cristina was grateful that Callie kept her opinions to herself. Sincerity aside, the concerned looks when they shared toast in the morning were a bit irritating. She knew she should talk to someone. Even if doing so meant opening up a much bigger can of worms than she could handle at the moment. Again, she felt like a liar. This time to her conscience for denying the ghosts of the past Owen's arrival had dredged up so many months ago. Cristina shook her head and scuffed her shoe against the stained concrete. She was not emotionally healthy. Why was it any surprise that she had missed the warning signs of Owen's downward spiral?

Cristina jumped as the next puff of air and the muffled clank of pipes filled the room. She was gradually growing to hate what the vent represented. Hatred born of yearning, fear and unrelenting grief for what should have been. Meredith was right: she had not let Owen go, nor did she want to. Her healing process was inextricably linked with his and that prospect was the most terrifying of all. More than 'the incident' needed to be addressed or she would never be able to form a nurturing relationship with him or anyone else. Owen could not be her sole support, as she had been his for months. That realization was a positive step, Cristina concluded as she walked out into the empty hallway. They both needed to concentrate on their respective problems, but the line between friendship and complete dependency was a blurry one. It would not shift into focus until guilt was addressed. Justified or not, intentional or inadvertent was irrelevant. Cristina needed to determine if she had somehow misled either Owen or herself. She decided to start with the obvious, if not the most accessible, source of information.

Derek Shepherd respected Cristina as a surgeon. His inclusion into the unanimous decision of the Attendings regarding Cristina and the first solo surgery left no doubt of that. He understood—and tolerated— her place in Meredith's life. Calling him a friend was a serious warping of the definition. Still, he had told her about the MRI and shared Owen's intentions to seek counseling. Derek was likely the only person Owen would confide in at this point.

It was nearly 5:30 when Cristina emerged from the basement and began looking for Derek. She heard him before she saw him. A low murmur of voices and then he and Meredith were rounding the corner at the end of the hallway. The smile on Meredith's face evaporated at the sight of Cristina's pensive frown. She stopped walking and glanced at Derek before saying, "We're going for a drink at Joe's. Do you want to join us?"

If she were not feeling so unsettled, Cristina might have considered it for the sake of friendship. Shaking her head, she said, "I can't tonight. Derek, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"What do you need?"

"Privately?"

Meredith sighed.

Derek flicked his eyes between the two women. "Why don't you go ahead?" he said quietly to Meredith. "I'll meet you there."

Cristina held her breath until Meredith nodded with obvious reluctance and continued down the hall.

"Let's talk in my office." Derek gestured for Cristina to precede him.

Minutes later he closed the door behind her and offered a chair. "I'm assuming this is about Owen." He pulled out his desk chair and sat down opposite her. "You know the rules regarding doctor patient confidentiality as well as I do, Cristina."

"I'm not asking you as his doctor. I'm asking…" She stared at her fingers knitted across her knee. "I'm asking because you cared enough to offer to help him."

"I don't appreciate the position you're trying to put me in."

"I've never asked anything of you."

"No?" He barked a laugh. "You've been in my business in one way or another for years. Neither you nor Meredith has ever given me a choice in the matter."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant and I'm not sure what I can tell you. The specifics of Owen's MRI are his business. The rest…" He shrugged and sat back. "I told him about Dr. Wyatt and he said he would make an appointment."

Cristina frowned. "She was Meredith's shrink. I can't believe she would recommend her considering how she feels about Owen."

"Meredith doesn't know about it and I have no intention of telling her." He smirked at the curious cock of Cristina's head. "She doesn't tell me how or what to think."

"I guess I should say I'm sorry. She can't be making this easy."

"You're not and she isn't but I'm an adult and I can handle it."

"Does he talk to you?" The question sounded more desperate than Cristina cared to admit. Derek's blue eyes were surprisingly sympathetic when they met hers.

"We've gone out for a beer or two," he admitted

"And how does he seem?" It was a strange question to ask any man in Cristina's opinion, but her back was against the wall. The option to walk away had already been chosen to calamitous effect. She would not choose it again.

Derek's gaze did not waver as he considered his reply. Cristina found herself shifting self-consciously in the chair, feeling very much like a child. The skin of her cheeks was taut and flush. Her legs were quivering with tension and she was about to spring up from the chair when Derek finally sat forward and said. "Scared, he seems scared, Cristina. Whatever he's telling Wyatt is taking quite a toll and maybe that's as it should be. It's not easy though and I'm not sure if the reason he seems so calm lately is because he's finally dealing with the PTSD or he's just exhausted." He looked away. "He doesn't talk about the war or therapy with me. We just drink a beer and talk about the Seahawks when the game is on. The only thing I know for sure is that he misses you."

She bit her lip, startled and frustrated by the burn of lurking tears.

Derek stood up. 'I know why you walked away and you know he does too. Doesn't make it any easier. Don't stay away because Meredith thinks you should. Do what's best for you and Owen and the hell with the rest of us." He walked out, leaving the door ajar.

~*~*~

Permission to proceed was not something Cristina expected from Derek but the effect of their conversation was undeniable. For the first time since breaking up with Owen she felt free of the weight of well-meaning friends and social stigma. While it was true that Owen had hurt her in ways that would take an indeterminate amount of time to heal, Derek had reminded her of two very important facts. She _would_ heal and she _did_ have a right to fight for a relationship with Owen. The feeling of peaceful anticipation spiked markedly when her cell phone chimed as she exited the hospital. Cristina checked the called ID and hoped that her good mood would resonate in her voice when she spoke. "Hi."

"Hi," Owen responded softly. "How are you?"

Cristina sat down on the bench against the wall. "Better now."

"I'm sorry I haven't called."

"Don't be." Cristina crossed her legs and leaned back, letting the weak sunlight bath her upturned face. "You've got a lot to deal with."

"And you?" his voice dipped lower. "Are you sleeping, Cris?"

"Sometimes," she admitted, hoping it would not hurt either of them more than it had to. "I might need to talk to someone."

"I know a good shrink." He chuckled nervously.

"Are you sleeping better? Well, better that you know of?"

"Yes."

"Good," she said, leaving the details of how and why to rest for the moment.

"I've missed you."

His strained whisper brought their last conversation instantly to mind. Cristina bit her lip at the memory of his intense blue eyes glassy with tears. "I've missed you too."

"I've had four sessions with Dr. Wyatt."

"And?"

Owen sighed. "It's been…rough. I've been hanging onto this stuff in my head for months, years in some cases, and trying to put it into words…" He swallowed audibly and drew a deep breath, "I don't know what I expected because I didn't let myself think about it before."

Cristina winced at the weariness in his voice. Therapy was not something she understood beyond a clinical sense and the thought of sitting on Wyatt's couch was hardly enticing. "You're going to stick with it, right?" She strove to inhume the words with a note of promise.

"Yes."

Silence stretched out letting in the sounds of the city and snatches of conversation from passersby. Cristina clutched the phone, listening to Owen's breathing grow more shallow and jagged. "Talk to me," she prompted gently.

"Cris I can't believe what I did. How I deluded myself into thinking that I could handle this…I nearly..."

He fell silent and Cristina waited patiently. The line was still open but Owen had moved the speaker away from his mouth. She could hear the disjointed murmur of a television and the pop of a plastic water bottle re-expanding after a long drink. When his breathing sounded close and slower, Cristina spoke first. "I know that you regret what happened and while I can't just forget about it, I do understand _why _it happened. You're taking steps so cut yourself some slack."

"You're awfully forgiving."

"You would be surprised how much actually sinks in when the right person is speaking."

"Excuse me?"

Cristina pushed an errant curl back behind her ear. "You told me not to judge Margaret Campbell on the basis of one case. I have no intention of judging you on what happened that night." His breath caught at the reminder. Cristina flinched. "I didn't bring it up to hurt you."

"I know."

Obviously Owen was not ready to deal with her sense of guilt no matter that it might ease his own. Cristina dropped the subject and waited for him to speak again.

"I'm going to see my mother."

The words came out in a flat tone that belied just how difficult the act would be. Cristina suspected that Owen had been far closer to his mother than she had ever been to hers. Staying away had not been easy for him. Going home would be harder still. "Dr. Wyatt suggested this?"

"No."

"Then why…"

"It's time."

He was jumping the gun out of fear. Cristina wanted to argue, to tell him not to derail the train before it had even left the station. She sensed that it was already too late. "Has your mother tried to call you?"

"No, she thinks I'm over…oh, you mean Beth?" He paused. "I don't think she's told her. I spoke to mom the day before… well, it's been a couple of weeks."

"You haven't talked to her since that night, have you?"

"No."

Cristina got up and started walking across the parking lot. "You haven't missed a week in how long? Don't you think she's going to be suspicious?"

"I couldn't. Not after…I just couldn't talk to her and pretend. I feel like such a hypocrite." He was silent for a long while and then. "Would you believe it took me an hour to get up the nerve to call you?"

Cristina crossed the street to her building and sat down on the steps. She believed it, more, she admired him for having the guts. He still trusted her and now there was no doubt that shame and not anger had kept him at a distance.

Owen cleared his throat. "Will you come out there with me? You don't have to come in or anything."

Before 'the incident' Cristina would have gone without hesitation. The anxious knot tightening in the pit of her stomach was an unwelcome surprise.

"Cristina?"

"I'm here."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Don't be sorry."

"We're not together anymore. I have no right to ask anything of you."

The affirmation of what neither of them wanted spread a chill deep into her bones. Here lay the line between friendship and dependency. Cristina took a chance. "Would you go alone?"

"I would."

Cristina sighed with relief. Good idea or not she would do her part. "Then I'll come with you. You needed to get help for your sake. Not for me or anyone else. Now that you have there's no way I'm letting you go through this alone."

*~*~*

By coincidence they both had the next afternoon off. When Owen arrived at her apartment Cristina declined his suggestion of separate cars. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm not afraid of you," she said and walked to his truck without a backward glance. It was the truth in terms of physical proximity. She was very apprehensive of the effect this visit would have on him however and refused to make it harder by forcing him to drive himself home afterwards.

After a morning of clouds and drizzle a watery sun now warmed the landscape. Owen kept his eyes on the road and spoke in low tones as he drove. He lived north of the city, his mother exactly six miles west of him. Their paths had never crossed in all these long month in part because she hated Seattle traffic. She shopped locally to avoid the crowds and preferred the company of old friends to the perceived culture of downtown. He painted a very traditional picture of Sheila Hunt. Cristina was reminded of the easy-going adventurous spirit Owen had once been. He seemed to fit naturally behind the wheel of a pick up truck, red hair tousled by the breeze, skin ruddy and chapped. Cristina looked out the window to hide a wistful grin. She knew well the muscular body that was hidden beneath the grey button down and white t shirt. Every moment of their love making was etched in her brain. She could picture that body slick with sweat, those surgeon's hands coated in grease or dirt. Owen Hunt was a country boy at heart who sought to explore the world and wound up with far more than he had ever dreamed of. The grin faded and Cristina turned to look at him.

Owen briefly met her eyes. "I really appreciate this."

Cristina nodded. She itched to reach out and touch him, make a small connection that would reassure more than words.

Owen frowned. "You're sure? We could still turn around. It's not too late for me to bring you back and then drive out here on my own."

Would he really have the courage to attempt this visit twice in one day? Persistent doubts collided like bumper cars inside her mind, Cristina shut them down with a firm. "I'm sure."

"Okay."

Cristina leaned back and gave him privacy by turning to look out the window. She was a city girl and found the open spaces dotted with flower and vegetable farms a bit disconcerting. Still, the spring colors contrasted against the rich, black dirt painted a more vivid picture than any painting she could remember.

They drove for several minutes and then turned off the main road. "Is this where you grew up?" she asked as Owen pulled up to a traffic light.

"Yes."

"It's…small."

Owen shrugged. "It was big enough when I was a kid. We played ball behind the school. Hung out at the bowling alley or the movie theater. There was more here than I ever gave it credit for."

"Leave it to Beaver land?"

"Not really. But it was a hell of a lot safer than where I've been since."

"Do you regret leaving?"

"Sometimes."

Cristina nodded and tried not to take the comment personally. They would never have met if Owen had not looked beyond his front door. She watched him out of the corner of her eyes. His knuckles were bluish-white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching hard enough to crack. "Hey, it's going to be okay," she whispered. He blew a ragged sigh and stepped hard on the gas.

They proceeded along a street line with large trees and older houses in need of fresh paint. The lawns were neatly kept and laundry hung discreetly on lines in the backyards. It was a lower income community with the pride of flags on porches and yellow ribbons on railings and car bumpers. Cristina could envision a much younger Owen Hunt riding his bicycle down the cracked sidewalks or playing ball in the park they drove past. His hair was strawberry blond, his legs and arms thin sticks sprouting from a barrel chest. A child who ran with abandon and climbed the hoary pine on the corner of the yard they pulled up and parked in front of. She kept her eyes carefully focused on the simple two story house, acutely aware of his deep breathing and the smell of fresh sweat that permeated the cab.

"I almost wish she wasn't here."

Cristina turned fully around, forcing Owen to acknowledge her. "You're here, she's here. Don't you think you've both waited long enough?"

Owen met her eyes and nodded once.

"I can come in if you want me to." She did not make the offer lightly. Past experiences with the parents of lovers or friends had rarely gone well for Cristina.

"No. I think I have enough explaining to do already." He shifted in the seat and ran a hand across the back of his neck.

"Okay."

"Cris?"

"What?"

Owen reached out and brushed a finger against her hair. His blue eyes sought her brown ones and held fast for a moment. Then he turned away and stepped out of the truck. Squaring his shoulders, he walked purposefully up the edge of the driveway to the front door.

Cristina settled back in the seat and closed her eyes. It was a nice day to take a walk but she dare not leave the truck. The visit could last ten minutes or an hour and there was the off chance that Owen would come out and ask her to come inside. More than the possibility of meeting Sheila Hunt kept her seated. This little town with its' overt patriotism and cadre of memories not her own made Cristina nervous. She would stand out by her clothes and her manner. The spaces were too big and left her yearning for the comfort of tall buildings and the aromas of asphalt and exhaust. The fact that Owen no longer felt at home here—albeit for very different reasons—just added to the discomfort.

The warm sun streaming in through the windshield lulled her. The sounds of passing cars and the occasional barking dog sounded thin and distant. Cristina unzipped her jacket and snuggled deeper into the leather upholstery. Her breathing deepened and sleep gradually darkened the red of her closed eyelids to brown and then black.

She woke to the feel of the truck rocking ever so slightly. Startled, she straightened up and looked outside. Owen was leaning against the front bumper. His head was bowed, both hands jammed into the pockets of his black jeans. A flash of concern cleared the cobwebs from Cristina's brain. She opened the door and stepped out into the cool shade of the pine. "Owen?"

He flinched at her voice but did not turn around.

Cristina stepped forward, stopping just short of the bumper.

"I need you to drive."

"Okay." She had never heard him sound so lifeless. As if all emotion had been drained away and only a brittle husk remained. "Where?"

"You saw the park?"

"Yes."

"There." He pulled out his keys and keeping his face carefully averted, handed them to her as he walked past.

Cristina rounded the hood and climbed behind the wheel. Owen stared fixedly out the passenger window and never moved as she turned the truck around and drove the block and a half back down the street to the park. The silence was oppressive and Cristina's fears were multiplying by the second. She pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. Owen was out of the cab before she could open her mouth.

He walked across the sparse grass and climbed up on a set of wooden bleachers that faced the baseball diamond. The field was empty at this time of the day. In the distance, two women pushed baby strollers and talked as they walked the concrete path that edged the park. On the verge of the trees that backed the lot a black lab spun in circles as he chased a Frisbee thrown by a man in a grey track suit. Cristina pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the truck. They were essentially alone and she hoped it would stay that way as she crossed the lawn and sat down on the bench just below Owen's. He was silent for a long time before speaking in a voice barely above a whisper.

"I played Little League here for five summers. She came to every game. Every single one even when it poured rain. She made the whole team brownies once a week and brought a gallon of chocolate milk to wash them down with." Cristina winced at the rough scraping of his palms rubbing together close to her ear. "When I graduated from high school she got permission from the town to hold a party here for the whole class. Parents, friends…God, there must have been 200 people here that night. She didn't care …" He drew a shaky breath and shifted on the seat. "I asked her to come out here the night I decided to join the army. Just seemed like the right place to tell her. Her son the doctor going off to war. She was so damn proud…"

Cristina moved up to sit beside him.

"I came home between each tour. Most of the guys I went to school with had either moved away and started careers or were working for minimum wage here at home. I couldn't reconnect with them but with her…always. My dad died when I was ten and we did everything that he would have done with me. Camped, fished, Little League. Everything…" He pushed a hand through his hair and stared out across the empty field, blinking. "When I came back that last time she and I drove out to dad's grave and then went fishing. It was cold, that ice storm was coming in, but she was game. I went into the city later to meet up with some of my unit. She knew more than just a fender bender happened that night but she didn't ask. I planned to tell her when I got back and then…I didn't."

Raw emotions flitted across Owen's face, tightening his jaw and the muscles of his back. He balled his hands into fist and rested them on his knees. "Beth told her weeks ago that I was home. She's been waiting all this time for me to come to my senses. To trust her enough to come back here…" He shook his head. "She's angry that I didn't come to her sooner. 'Why didn't you let me help you?' she said. Like there's anything she could have done? Like I wasn't already screwed up enough? She doesn't understand that I'll never come back," Owen whispered bitterly. "Sitting in that living room was like sitting in the sand again. Foreign, awkward, just…wrong."

"Maybe she does understand," Cristina ventured gently. Owen sucked in a startled breath, seeming surprised that she was still sitting beside him. She touched his bare forearm and felt the skin cool and quivering slightly beneath her fingers. "You both have memories and there's no reason you can't keep them. It doesn't mean she can't accept the changes in you."

"I don't want to put her through that."

"You're not the only one involved here," she reminded with a trace of irony. "You made the decision for her without ever asking. You didn't lean on the bond that meant so much to both of you and she resents it. I would too."

"Do you?"

The question caught her off-guard. Cristina sat back slightly without moving her hand. "I did for a little while. Especially after what happened in the hallway."

"I wanted to protect you."

"You can't even protect yourself right now. What makes you think that you're the best one to decide for all of us?"

"Because if I don't people get hurt," he snapped, pulling his arm away.

"They have in spite of everything you've done. Are you going to make it worse by refusing to try?"

"What?"

Cristina moved until she could catch his wandering gaze and hold it. "You said it felt wrong to be in your mom's living room. Did you expect it would be easy? "

"No."

"Then let her be angry because she deserves it. Let her decide what she can handle."

"Like you?"

There was no challenge in his tone or eyes. He did not look away as Cristina pulled her thoughts together. "I didn't know and neither does your mother. You have to give her a chance no matter how hard it is for both of you." She reached out and touched his arm again. "There is a lot of anger and hurt to go around here. I have my share and it's as much about what you haven't told me as it is about what happened that night." She squeezed the hard muscles beneath her hand. "Maybe your mother and I have something in common after all."

Owen laughed beneath his breath and summoned a faint smile. "What's that?"

"We're both too invested in you to just walk away." He ducked away but not before she saw the glint of tears standing in his eyes. Cristina reached out and grasped his other arm. He trembled and she held on, waiting for him to grow still before asking, "Will you hold me?"

Owen's arms slipped free of her grasp and settled gently across her shoulders and around her waist. Cristina snuck one arm around his waist and rested her hand on the small of his back. The other drifted to his thigh. She sank into the warmth and held him as tightly as their awkward position would allow. His cheek lay against her hair and his fingers lightly stroked her shoulder. There were no words, only peace seeking entry to troubled hearts and lies laid low as the doors swung wide.

~THE~END~


End file.
